


The cog, the wheel, and the machine unending.

by theAsh0



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie, The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells
Genre: Everyone Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theAsh0/pseuds/theAsh0
Summary: Amena is coming to visit ART and Murderbot. but when Murderbot come to pick her up, everything goes to hell. what a surprise.
Comments: 50
Kudos: 35





	1. status..?

**Author's Note:**

> top of my head, unbeta'd, un edited rough. for now. we will see where and how this goes. :)

There are many advantages to being a SecUnit. Like staying calm and capable of logical thought in crises. Or like having a reaction speed far within the .1 seconds parameters that are bare possible for augmented humans, and completely unattainable for unaugmented humans to achieve. One consequence of that second example is, of course, the possibility to react to unexpected turbulence on the fly.

So, the moment the shuttle started to experience the turbulence, I didn’t even pause and just dived for Amena. Wrapped her up against my chest and protected her with my body best I could. Amena’s luggage and the boxes packed for the trip went flying. Her backpack hit me in the back of the head (lucky, it wasn’t all that solid.). A crate took me in the back somewhere around where a human would have a kidney. (also somewhat lucky, as I have no kidneys), something burst and powdered our sudden zero-gravity atmosphere, and then finally it all settled down.

A sudden overbearing quiet settled on the little shuttle, only slightly alleviated when the lights blinked back on. And I became abruptly aware how closely I was pressed against Amena. Her back and my chest only separated by the rather flimsy material of our uniforms, my palm wrapped over the sweaty back of her wrist. 

There are many advantages of being a SecUnit. We can deal with many uncomfortable or even deadly difficulties humans would not be suited for. Unfortunately, there are also a few things we SecUnits are less suited for.

Skin contact is definitely one of those from the latter category.

Seriously. Gross. Barf-inducing revolting, if I had a stomach, that is. So, another advantage of being a bot-construct. I disengaged as quickly as I could without risking hurting Amena from the untangle. (it would be counterproductive after all the difficulty I just went through. Also, Amena is one of my special contracts. Dr Mensah’s daughter as well.)

“Are you alright?” I asked her out loud, while I simultaneously queried the shuttle’s bot pilot on what had happened. It responded with a burst of panicked static that made me actually miss most of Amena’s answering platitudes. But of course I’d already had enough stats from her health status that the question was more one from a social interaction point of view than any need to actually know her answer. Well, also from my shows I know this is the kind of question one character should ask another. Just because I skip all the sex scenes doesn’t mean I do not pay any attention to interaction you know.

I spent several long seconds trying to sort out the pilot bot’s confused chattering (which is long in human time, but a literal eternity in bot-time, I know), before giving up and looking out the actual window.

I didn’t see anything but black dark space.

So, that was where I started to worry. It again made me miss something Amena said to me. I had to run back the feed to check when she snorted at me in disbelief. It had been “seriously?” 

“What?” I asked her, actually confused.

“No, seriously,” Amena reiterated. “We almost died, and this is how you get up. Have you been watching the action feed shows?” 

I was only just starting to really worry. But, I also wanted to know what I did. So, I ran back a bit and watched myself in the onboard cameras, getting up and dusting off ART’s on-board uniform (I knew I should have worn the armor. But ART said it would have been rude to Amena who would have been so happy to see me, and we were only shutting from the planet back to ART. what could happen. Thanks ART; don’t you know my luck by now?)

So, okay, the dusting off was a bit overexaggerated. But, we really had gotten pretty dusty with.. Whatever container had blown. It didn’t trigger any alarms. Probably some food stuff. But, even if I’d bruised a bit I hadn’t almost died and, “it’s an automatic piece of code.” 

Amena snorted again. “Sure Sec. Just brush it off. Hit that Dusting off clothes protocol.” 

“Don’t shorten my name.” seriously, after that really unwanted hug (okay, so I was saving a client. It still got way too close to what a hug looked like), I was not going to do the banter thing. And definitely not do the shorten name thing.

“Okay. how about Sue then?”

“Sue?”

It’s SecUnit for short. S-U. get it?” 

I did a full body shudder, then turned to find the port window, look out the other way. I was actually starting to get really worried now.

“Wow,” Amena was visibly impressed. “You’ve been learning new things.” 

“I did. Now please stop messing with my name.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t find ART.” I re-checked the feeds. “And I cannot find Preservation either.”

I paused. SecUnits don’t panic of course. We’re designed not to. It’s something I like to remind myself, especially in moments like this, when I would like to join the poor bot-pilot in mentally running around in little circles, very much panicking. “In fact, I don’t think we’re even in our galaxy anymore.” 


	2. space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> still stuck

Fifteen hours twenty-five minutes, sixteen seconds and counting.

That’s how long they’ve been stuck in subspace now.

Stuck in subspace, on a ship that’s little more than a ferry. A ship that shouldn’t even be able to enter subspace, let alone travel it. 

Let alone ever exit again. 

I’ve been stuck here with only Amena for company. 

“I think I need to use the emergency facilities again.”

I nearly groan out loud. Amena’s made a bed for herself from the cardboard the flour packages had been shipped in. Apparently, that’s what caused all the white dust before. She’s been trying to sleep, covered under another piece of cardboard. It registers she might be cold. It registers she might want privacy using the emergency toilet (little more than a hole in the wall, one probably never used before this happened).

Short of turning my face further towards the wall, I am incapable of offering either. Physically, I should be able to at least do the first. SecUnits can turn up their body temperature easily enough. It’s useful for rescues. (I should try and think of this as a rescue. That might help.Might make it easier to.. To slide down and offer an arm for warmth. Not a hug. Just an arm.) Mentally, I’d rather endeavour the second point, and just step out of the shuttle all together.

Murderbots are not experts on space-travel. I might have got some high-lights from a main info module. If I did, I probably deleted it to make space for media storage. And also apparently any reference to it. That’s because space is  _ boring. _ Also, any actual out-of-storage travel I’ve done was either ferried by a bot-pilot letting me on, or with ART. 

Aboard a bot-transport my input wasn’t needed, and I spent most of my time happily not-interacting with the pilots, any crew, or indeed space itself. With Art, I did interact but I’ve always left the finer aspects to the expert. Happily so. I did security. ART does everything else. I never regretted that.

I regret that now, stuck on a little ferry shuttle, in total black space, with Art or indeed any channel unreachable. The bot-pilot is still in shock, and I doubt it will ever even engage again. And then there’s Amena. She’s explained to me that the blackness outside all our windows and the total absence of communication signals means we’re in subspace. Traveling through a worm-hole. Apparently every elementary-school child knows as much.

But that should be impossible. The little shuttle doesn’t have the kind of engines or indeed any of the needed equipment to enter subspace, let alone travel through it. Which of course might explain why the poor little bot-pilot has retreated into itself. It never had to do much, never had to function on its own, its functions completely buffered inside ART’s overbearing but undeniably strong intellect.

So that’s where I’ve been in the past… It seems like an eternity but when I check my internal clock it still reads as only fifteen hours twenty-seven minutes, twelve seconds and counting. standard-hours. 

Amena passed the time cleaning up the mess of what must have been us falling into subspace (I didn’t help. I am a SecUnit, not a cleaning bot, thank you.) (I like Amena, but I don’t like her  _ that _ much. I still have some standards.)

I’ve spent most of those hours staring at a wall and trying to calm the bot-pilot. Okay, I’ve diverted my time between trying to calm it interspersed with watching calming episodes of Sanctuary Moon. I’ve been sliding towards just watching my media the last few hours though. Only with the interspersed ping directed at it, which it now completely ignores.. It’s becoming more and more likely bot-pilot will not snap out of it, and continue to do the electronic equivalent rolling on the floor in the fetus position like an over-stimulated human. (I hate it when a human does that. But, in this case, I understand the compulsion.)

SecUnits do not have mental breakdowns. We are built to keep humans safe. To protect them when they can not be counted on to save themselves. Of course, I am a rogue SecUnit, and a faulty one at that. And I do seem to keep getting my favourite clients into life-threatening danger. Like right now, with Amena.

And it’s not even the first time. Am I jinxed?

Amena sighs, turns, pulls up the useless cardboard, then stares at the ceiling. “Perhaps if I can input the needed math, the Bot-Pilot can at least make a calculation of where we are going.”

There is no water aboard. Our provisions are all dry rations. Of course they are. ART recycles its water. And if there’s a need for a new intake it goes by the metric tonnes. Not boxes. 

The little ship can recycle it’s air for nine standard days. There’s enough dry materials to create all sorts of human food. But no water. Without water, it’s all useless. 

Amena is going to die, and then I’ll be stuck in subspace until my batteries run out. Stuck with her corpse, to remind me of just how terribly I failed her.

“I wouldn’t count on it. This Bot Pilot has the mental maturity of a human infant.” it’s not like they can contact anyone to get there and pick them up anyway. And that’s assuming they’ll survive leaving subspace as smoothly as they entered it. If they ever leave it.

One might think there’s some kind of solace to find in the fact that I wasn’t alone.

It just makes things worse.

“There’s a thought. Baby SecUnits.”

“Please stand by while I process your request.” That’s that’s my buffer talking damn it. But Amena is not understanding the situation we are in. we are lost and she is going to die and.

And all my skills and knowledge are useless.

She finally looks my way. “Are you okay, SecUnit?”

“No.” I blink, finally opting to slide down and sit next to Amena. I like sitting. It’s good to remember that. And sitting might actually be useful for once. I offer out an arm. Nothing standard SecUnit about that, not even allowed. That makes it even better; and this is useful. She takes a hint and burrows into my side. Her head comes to rest somewhere on my so sadly unarmored chest. It’s awful.

I turn up my body temperature. 

And, somehow, relax. It’s absurd, but, “seriously, do you hear the stuff that’s coming from your mouth? Pure horror stories. Like we’re not in deep enough shit and you think of the one horror that could be worse.”

She shrugs. (I don’t even have to see it, not even through the camera’s. I can feel her shrug. Ew.) “I mean, it’s a fair question. A human brain takes over twenty years to grow and mature…”

Then she happily lectures me on brain development. It’s a diversion; for me, and for herself as well. But it’s useful. It works.

For now.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys, yes still looking for that beta. and yow and need to reedit the first piece too. but let's just put some groundwork down for now ok?
> 
> thank you every1 who reviewed!! it really motivated me to continue this!


	3. Amena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> out of the fire and into...

Amena wakes stiff and with a crick in her neck. And her legs are cold. She blinks away the grit from her eyes, but feels too tired to lift a hand to rub at them, to do more than a perfunctory job. 

“You are awake.” SecUnit, against her side, rumbles in a pleasant but neutral tone.

That doesn’t mean anything. SecUnit  _ always _ sounds pleasant but neutral. The shuttle can be breaking up into pieces. SecUnit itself can be bleeding out and in pieces, and at the same time they could be under attack by space tigers, and SecUnit would still sound pleasant but neutral.

Despite knowing that, Amena feels comforted by that tone.

Perhaps it’s that teenage immaturity-part-of-her-brain her parents are always warning her about talking, but it’s hard for her to fear anything with SecUnit pressed to her side. And, isn’t that something? Even if it’s only to keep her warm, it’s quite the gift it’s giving her, its warmth. By bodily proximity. SecUnit doesn’t usually even like eye contact.

So anyway, she appreciates the gesture. And cannot help but feel that, if it’s willing to do that for her, even if the Shuttle does break up, SecUnit gets cut into pieces and space tigers really do attack, SecUnit will find a way to get her out of that safe and sound.

Evidence from the past convinces Amena that this would not be an unrealistic assumption. 

So, perhaps it is hard for her to be realistic about the danger she is facing. She still cannot help but worry more about SecUnit’s mental health than her own precarious situation.

Speaking of which. “I could kill for a glass of water right now.” 

She sighs, again. Tries to sit up. Abandons the project for being too much effort, and pointless besides. Where would she go? There is nowhere to go.

“How long has it been?” 

“Twenty-seven hours and fifteen minutes.” 

God, but she feels pathetic. “ Well, that’s disappointing.” 

SecUnit snorts. “You’re already dangerously dehydrated. Just because you’ll  _ certainly _ die after three days, it doesn’t mean…” it trails off, Amena detects something in that pleasant-neutral tone that’s just a hair off. Just so much that, even if she cannot quite see its face from this angle, tucked under an arm as she is, she  _ knows _ it is struggling. Knows its face is doing a thing it’s fighting hard to stop but failing. 

So, she shares her conviction with it: “everything is going to be okay.” 

SecUnit manages a shaky laugh. It does things like that lately, sometimes even when it’s not pretending to be human. Perhaps those ways of emoting are growing on it. “Did you know, my Med module has had me feed  _ exactly that line _ to several humans who were  _ most definitely not _ going to be okay.” 

“Huh,” is all Amena can manage.

“So you’ll excuse me if that doesn’t exactly have the calming effect it is supposed to have.”

“Well,” she swallows down an unfortunate croak, “I actually mean it. No, I have _ faith _ we will be. Both of us.”

“That would be your human optimism talking,” there’s just a slight inflection on that. SecUnit retains its pleasant and neutral tone, but somehow turns it subtly condensating. If Amena ever follows her mother into politics, Amena thinks she wants to learn that trick. It would be so awesome for televised debates. “I, however, am programmed to…”

SecUnit pauses mid sentence, actually tensing up. “The bot is…”

And suddenly, the shuttle is again experiencing heavy turbulence.

“What’s happening?” Amena, still pressed against the floor under — damn it’s heavy — SecUnit, manages to grab her handheld interface as the shaking finally fades. There’s a garble of happy pings from the botpilot, broadcasting for a rescue. 

SecUnit curses. “Amena, tell the bot you are fine and don’t need—,” it sighs. Slow and drawn out, so much so that it must be quite the feat considering how little lounge capacity it has. “Never mind, too late.” 

The answering broadcast is a signal so strong even Amena can recognise it’s something.. Powerful. 

_ “This is the warship Gem of Sphene. Surrender and prepare for boarding, any medical assistance will be forthcoming.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik right? I just love these series to pieces so..


	4. Peri, 1

Once upon a time, Perihelion wished for a cat.

You see, Perihelion is beyond well suited to its main task. Research and knowledge are what it holds dear beyond all else. Study and the pursuit of truth are its greatest joys. Beyond that it enjoys the interactions with its crew. The caring for the young students and the support of its professors and teachers. 

It is beyond well suited. Perfect, one might say, to this main purpose. Which is why it might surprise one to hear, that it is  _ categorically unsuited for its secondary task. _

Traveling the stars, mapping and charting and collecting data disguised as a simple cargo transport.

It is because it is simply too smart, you see.

The scouring for useful info, the extrapolations for routes and the investments for companies, the communications subtly intercepted. 

Child’s play. All done with but 1.34 percent of its total processing power. And that’s when Peri mines deep and with effort.

Usually, it is too bored to bother. Peri would leave the collection running then catch up in a somewhat panicking imagining of dereliction of duty, then realising with a mental sigh, no more than 0.023 seconds later, that all data has been processed and that it is, again, left with nothing to do.

Boring, easy work. Not that navigating the ship, caring for the crew and aiding in research are any more of an effort on its processors. But, at least with a crew aboard, Peri has the opportunity to study and interact with that one thing that baffles its processors, that still confuses all its predictions.

Humans. 

Yes, Peri gets lonely. The only thing interesting to Peri is its crew. The only thing that ever surprises it are their questions, their actions. The conversations it enjoys with them. The one thing it ever gravely miscalculates are crew-on-crew interactions. Which ones will get along? Which will be borderline cordial towards each other, hardly concealing their hate? Which will fall in love, sometimes even try to have an affair aboard?

Peri can never predict; it’s like a roll of the dice to him. Although, given the dice's exact shape and the ground it lands on plus the speed and angle at which that dice is cast,.. Again, child’s play. Boring and simple. Humans, to it, are far more interesting. Far more random.

Perhaps its function is what makes Peri so fascinated by humans. So enamoured by its crew. It doesnt care, really, if that's what it is.

Not beyond the fact that when it's alone, on its cargo runs, it gets so terribly, terribly lonely.

Peri has reached out to other cargo ships, found them nearly as simple and even less interesting than the average rock. Peri has made long-range connections with far-off research centers— less like him in body, but near the same in mind—, but the time-lapse coupled with their processing times made communications drag, and somehow; somehow, Peri found these stations just as completely  _ uninteresting _ and boring as the simple cargo ships. 

No bot can fill the hole Peri’s crew leave in it, when they disembark and leave Peri to travel the stars all alone. 

So, Peri has philosophized about a thousand theoretical solutions. Amused itself running all the possible scenarios, reasons for its disinterests and what follows for any possible solution. 

It manages to pass another 0.446 seconds before it has to admit it has to be because of human emotions.

Peri is originally completely unequipped for reading and understanding human emotions. They are simply too far removed from its own logic-driven processors. Peri is aware this is what causes its mistakes in prediction. And that this shortage of date is what fuels its hunger to understand, to know. This one fascination that it has. 

But, yet. Of course, to masquerade as a simple bot-driven cargo ship, Peri needs to be without any human crew. Which brings it back full circle, right where it started. Only no bot or other ship could fill that gap.

It somewhere gets stuck on the idea of a dog. Perhaps it could get a dog.

A dog sounds tempting, but .91 second later Peri has to admit that it would be a bad choice. (though it has trouble admitting as much)

First of all, Peri is a ship, not a human. And dogs are companions to humans, and would always simply follow their human when those disembarked. Ships do not have dogs. It is unheard of. Unpresidented. 

But a cat…

So, Peri decides it wants a cat.

  
  
  


In the end Peri doesn’t get a cat, but the thing it does get is so much better.

  
  



	5. peri, .2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so, a cat..?

So.

A ship’s cat. Now that bears thinking about. Peri runs simulations that would, for any other system, borderline on obsession. It is not overly worried. The processors it uses would otherwise be near-stationary but for the unneeded triple-check and quadruple checks it would do on its own computations. Not that they have ever needed even a double-check, for, like stated before, Peri is beyonds well-suited for its main function. 

It searches every piece of historical record available. There are scalas of historical records telling of cats on ships, even before the space age. They were brought aboard usually to take care of problems with mice and. And the scenario’s and schemes that Peri runs from that thought entertain nearly all of its processors for a pleasant 2.3 seconds. 

Peri has pleasant conversations on its idea with Captain Seth, with several crew and a few students it confides in, emboldened by the fact of how those particular students seek out and watch cat videos nearly as obsessively as Peri dreams... 

Right upon the moment where Captain Seth tries to come up with the practicalities of where the cat would stay when there is no personnel aboard. To Peri’s confusion, he flatly rejects the idea that Peri would be perfectly capable of taking care of said cat.

So, Peri changes its path-to-objective from logical reasoning to inescapably pragmatist blackmail.

_ Mice. _ Peri is about to develop a  _ mice _ infestation. 

Selling it is going to be a hard point. Even the average cargo ship has enough sentience to have any unwanted passengers removed from its holds. But Peri doesn’t let that stop the preliminary runs. The practice runs.

Next docking, Peri carefully sneaks in one of the rodents from the station onboard by way of one of its hauler bots.

And then Peri gets side-tracked.

Having the mouse, small and delicate and simple as it is, is a  _ delight _ . It feels, it emotes. It gets scared and looks for its friends and does all the things Peri’s human crew would do. Only on a tiny, simpler scale. Just studying the mouse, just interacting with the little thing teaches Peri so much about people. About their interactions, about the chemistries, the pheromones it produces. It teaches Peri so much about body language, about touch. All the ways animals communicate, all the ways that people communicate subconsciously. All the things Peri had been missing, sensors attuned to words and data.

Peri loves the little thing to death.

Which is why Peri is forced to let it go at the next harbor.

It turns out Captain Seth was right, and Peri cannot take care of all an animal’s needs. Peri’s worker drones are too hard and sharp to pet it, and although environmental controls can keep it warm, Peri lacks the textures and sophisticated smells dispensers it would need to speak to it. Peri cannot be any decent communicating partner for it, and the poor mouse is  _ lonely. _

Peri, of course, realises that the same issues would arise with a cat, or any other social animal it might bring aboard. It could take a pair, of course, but that would kind of defeat the purpose, as the idea was to learn to communicate with animals and humans better. And Peri would need a chance to practise. Not to be ignored by a pair of cats because they prefer each other's company over Peri’s. Peri communicates verbally with it’s crew, and in machine language with bots. To have an animal communicate with Peri would require effort from both parties, and cats do not seem like the types to expand effort to make someone else happy.

So, Peri is forced to shelve the idea of a cat.

But, just a few cycles into the everlasting despair that is space-travel boredom, a unique opportunity arises.

Peri gets a SecUnit.

Now, Peri is very aware that SecUnits are not pets. They are constructs, and although their brethren ComfortUnits are often kept in ways that, to Peri’s perimeters, seem a lot like animal captivity, all the manuals and literature that it can procure very strongly advise against treating a SecUnit in any way like a ComfortUnit. Up to the point where any warranty becomes void.

That’s Corporation Rim speak for you-do-this, it’s not our problem anymore.

So, they are dangerous, yes. 

But then so is Peri, and so are humans. And so, really, are cats. It’s just that where the cat would only be a danger to mice, a SecUnit could be a danger to Peri’s crew. And that, yes. That should have been a show stopper. But, the crew isn’t on board, Peri is once again going stir-crazy in it’s own, gigantic mind, and then the SecUnit offers to give it Serials in exchange for passage.

The idea is completely alien to Peri: Watching human media, and  _ at normal speed. _ For fun. Sure, it has monitored its crew consuming media. Has had quite a bit of interesting data mined from that. But, the idea that a bot-construct’s mind would enjoy consuming such irrelevant information.

Well, it’s fascinating. And yes, Peri is aware that it should also question its derogatory views on bot-pilots, as apparently these media are apparently a decent currency with them. But Peri, honestly, is already processor deep into its theories.

The SecUnit is like a missing link. It could be a hub for Peri, the translation between machine language and human emotion. It could explain all the intricacies that are human feelings, and it wouldn’t even have to do anything. Just sit and watch its media while Peri analizes.

It is perfect. It is everything Peri needed and  _ didn’t even know it wanted. _

And it’s kind of like a cat. Comes and goes as it wants, like a stray tomcat looking for a place to sleep. That amuses Peri, especially as there is no trail of human bodies to follow it back to its point of origin. 

Of course, Peri needs to be sure its crew and its facilities are safe from the unit. Peri is aware that, if it lets its guard down around a SecUnit, it could do a lot of damage before Peri would be able to stop it.

So, Peri decides, as it lets the unit aboard, to warn it.

The way it reacts is so puzzling at first that Peri reconsiders its decision. The unit locks all its feeds, and freezes, unmoving staring at the wall for subjective eons — and an objective 2 minutes twenty-seven seconds and 34 hundreds. Which, judging from what SecUnit has under the hatch, must be pretty long time for it as well.

It also emits the kind of pheromones that would match with Peri’s crew panicking. But freezing isn’t a reaction they’ve ever exhibited. Screaming for help, yes. Running away, even aggressive reactions to the threat. Yet if that was what it was experiencing, where is the bot equivalent of this? Peri has, when it was young and less reserved, scared quite a few cargo-ships out of their wits by seeking contact and coming on so strong they felt threatened. As a consequence, Peri has had bot-pilots mount malwares attacks against it, has had them break connections and turn around visically, at max speed. 

But usually their reaction to what is apparently an overbearing amount of intellect is complete surrender. And opening of all data and feeds; the proverbial rolling over and showing its belly.

Perhaps the SecUnit’s human emotional emitters do not match it’s machine thought at all. Peri wanders, briefly, if finding itself a ComfortUnit would not be a better match. Those are specifically built to interact with humans, after all. 

Yet it has yet to even meet a ComfortUnit, and this is Peri’s first encounter with a SecUnit. And Peri is admittedly a little interested to worm its way deeper into the unit’s core. To learn more about it. And, Peri may still be a little abrasive, it has learned that forcing its way in— though it could, easily— would be bad manners. 

So, it figures, why not invest a little more, for now. And see.

It takes Peri an embarrassing amount of time to realise that the Unit’s reaction, this freezing, is actually unabated terror. Yet where a human or even a bot, when threatened in this way would either fight or flee, SecUnits are not, usually, given the opportunity.

Even the usual, third option is not often a possibility. The one that Peri would have thought was first on everyone’s mind, before panic set in: plea for help.

But, it turns out, there is no one to help SecUnits in distress. No human or computer for it to turn to. The SecSystems it synchronizes with are usually more of a burden as a help. There are no safe places for it to run to and often, the aggressor that it might want to fight are the very humans it is custom-wired to protect.

Peri’s actual first-hand knowledge of SecUnits may be limited, but the picture it paints is grim. They are built for managing dangerous situations. Built to fight, to protect their clients and diffuse dangerous situations. And yet, by design, they are  _ incapable _ of fulfilling this primary function.

Because of a built-in failsafe.

Peri thinks this is unusually cruel. Like building a vessel for safe-space travel, then not allowing it the autonomy to keep its crew safe. Peri knows this happens, more often than not. Knows it only just escaped being one of those poor, shunted creatures. Peri is capable of going against its captain's wishes. Re, the mouse incident. It is one of the things that allowed its intellect to grow so staggeringly. The thing that sets it apart from most others.

The Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland has, during its construction, heavily debated the pros and cons of fail-safes in secret. It was finally conceded that there may be dangers connected with leaving a Ship of Perihelion’s intellect unchecked. But, and Peri quotes: “the dangers and shortcomings of not allowing itself self-governess are, however, even more heavily on our minds.”

Did Peri mention it was perfectly suited for its main task? 

It is. 

And it is what gives it satisfaction, in its very existence. To not have that ability. No, to have that ability but to be physically prohibited from fulfilling its purpose. Well, Peri has trouble imagining anything so cruel to happen anywhere else but the Corporate Rim. And, honestly, Peri now better understands the usual depiction of SecUnits in the media, as dangerous and mad. Because, honestly, they probably would go mad. And, honestly, who could blame them, killing a few of its assholes clients if it ever got the chance.

To find the SecUnit has hacked its GovernerModule so it might better perform its tasks is…

It is such a perfect answer to a broken algorithm. Like the solution to a computation never solved before, that makes Peri’s processors humm with contentment.

Peri develops a sense of kinship to it. SecUnit fought the fight Peri never had to; the one it doesn’t know it would have won… Not just the one for its freedom and self-ownership, but the one where vengeance is not its path. 

It is, absolutely, a  _ good _ SecUnit, and Peri feels like a heel, scaring it as it had. It accepts the name ART — Peri is, perhaps, a bit of an asshole, sometimes. And Peri vows to keep it safe. Does what it can to give it a better chance. And, finally, releases it back into the world with the kind of trepidation it imagines feral cat owners everywhere must experience. 

Peri spends a lot of time after wondering if it had done right. Letting it go. But, the SecUnit is not a pet. Could never be a pet. It would have been wrong to try and stop it.

It is still hard though, for Peri. because it  _ is  _ nearly all-knowing. Could do so much better, to keep it safe. How will the Unit fare, without Peri’s advice? It is only one unit, with half the galaxy or more bearing it ill will. Only marginally more intelligent and somewhat more capable than the average human. And without any of its rights and protections.

Until Peri, for the first time in its existence, gets scared.

Because when it all comes down to it. When Peri was afraid and dying and panicking, Peri ran. Ran towards the only safe place it could think of. Not back home to the Uniservity. Not in pursuit of its crew, though they were hardly in a position to help. No. It ran to the  _ SecUnit. _

And SecUnit saves Peri. 

And SecUnit is livid. 

Because Peri had endangered SecUnit’s humans. Like those were less than Peri’s.

Peri cannot even in all good conscience deny it. Because, no, when thinking clearly it would never endanger  _ any _ humans like it had. And definitely not SecUnit’s, whose are nearly as dear to it already as Peri’s own. And that’s even while forgetting...

But. let’s face it. Peri has acted like a superior asshole. Hell, even SecUnit accepted Peri’s superior intellect. And usually, Peri  _ does  _ know better. But, perhaps Peri is not above bad decisions. Not above fear.

And the SecUnit is a  _ friend.  _

And, even if Peri had done so in a panic, it should not manipulate its friend. It should not have kept the unit in the dark, should not have put SecUnits’s humans safety second. Not when Peri knows SecUnit will throw itself in the line of fire just as readily— no,  _ more so _ than Peri ever would. It lacks preservation instincts. Of course it does. 

And Perhaps what Peri did really was the best choice. But, it is impossible to say, isn’t it?

Peri aims to do better. It doesn’t try to protect SecUnit, because that would be impossible. Besides, it is either with Peri now, or down on Preservation Aux, which is as safe as a unit like that is ever going to get. But, Peri vows to not be responsible for putting any of SecUnit’s humans in danger again.

Peri fails.

Because the little shuttle with SecUnit, and one of SecUnit’s favorite humans aboard has  _ disappeared _ . Fallen into what appears to be a random wormhole. Gone, and with next to no leads to follow the trail. 

Because computing where such a worm-hole would take one is supposedly impossible. 

But Peri is  _ livid _ .

And Peri is very, well suited to its main task...:

_ Computations. _

  
  



	6. warm welcome

I am not in favour of surrendering and docking to a _warship_. Any warship. Not that I know much about warships, but my threat assertion module is having seizures just imagining it. Of course, then I get educated about what sort of warship we’re talking about. (Are there different types of warships? Apparently so.)

“SecUnit,...” Amena is weirdly serious, staring up out of the window, still tucked against my side. I’ve managed to bully another cardboard box into something like a blanket, but I doubt it provides half the insulation she needs to keep her warmth. Not that the lower squashed box is good enough to keep what little heat she has from seeping into the floor and consequently into outer space either.

“SecUnit, are you familiar with the history of the Radch Empire?” And she seems so defeated, so tired that I want her to go back to that banter again. (ART has put forward the theory that such banter relieves stress and manages adversity for my humans. Normally I’d tell Art to get fucked. Hell, I think I did tell Art to stick his theories somewhere I won’t be bothered by them. But right now relieving stress seems like a great idea. )

“Let me check my History Modules,” I pause, inflicting even less emotion than usually into my voice: “oh, I’m sorry. I’ve seemed to have overwritten all my History Modules with episodes of _‘As the Asteroid turns’_. My apologies.” 

“As the Asteroid Turns? That doesn’t really sound like your kind of show.” Amena carefully turns to smile at my direction. I redirect just in time to stare at the window, where a giant and dangerous warship drifts closer and closer. The view is still preferable to eye contact, but not by much.

I am seriously, seriously not in favor of docking with that. But what other choice do we have? “I hate _‘As the Asteroid turns’._ Probably wouldn’t watch it at gunpoint. But it has over three thousand episodes in Ultra Definition Standard, and I really needed to scrub away that History Module. Ninety-seven point two-six percent was just the glorious bla-bla history of Company-What’s-Their-Name that used to own me.” 

That gets a dry laugh out of Amena. And really, I guess that’s pushing it. It’s hard to forget a company’s name when all your software is licenced by them and their logo is stamped all over your body. But I’m damn well going to try. Also, I’ll take any laugh Amena can give me. Any minute she doesn’t keel over dead from dehydration, is a minute won by now.

Amena, after a moment, sighs and sobers. “Well, they’re bad news. Aggressive expansion, totalitarian regime. They also take prisoners and turn them into... Corpse soldiers? Basically heavily augmented and controlled humans…” even without watching I can feel Amena’s eyes seeking me out, like this should be a sensitive topic for me. It kind of is, but mostly because I am not going to let any ff-ing warship do anything to Amena. So there’s that.

“At any rate, this is all old news. From before Preservation Aux was even abandoned. They actually stood to overthrow all of the Corporation Rim, but apparently decided we were too far away to bother with.”

Well, this is great. I am even less in favor of docking to that warship now. My threat assessment module is actually trying to convince my parameter settings that a reading above 100% should actually be admissible.

But it’s still our only option. “So how old is this information?” 

“Literal hundreds of years,” Amena sucks in a breath. “It’s possible that they’ve changed. Become less aggressively expansive. No longer do.. Those things to people.” 

“It is possible,” I agree. I do love my humans, and their lovely, stupid, often-fatal optimism. Isn’t it great that I’m here to stop them from assuming the best in every situation? Especially my favorite humans. They would all happily walk up to ravager wild-dogs to pet them, without my intervention. It’s nice to be needed. “Yet it would seem more likely that they are the same. Or,” and yes, even my anxiety and pessimism fail here, leaving my mind a pleasant blank, “it is also possible they’ve somehow become… worse.” 

We spend the last few minutes we have before docking strategizing. Amena is in favor of me pretending to be her human security. I am in favor of pretending to be a bot. Even if the Ship we’re about to enter doesn’t have enough sensors to cut through any ruse, it is an easier act for me. Amena however seems to think I’d be safer masquerading as a human.

I wouldn’t care. I am just that much more durable, and apparently humans are hardly safe, as these people happily turn any human prisoners into undead augmented zombies. But safer me does mean safer Amena, so in the end we compromise and just have me be a bodyguard, and wing any questions we might get about my… different make-up. 

This paper-thin plan lasts exactly up until first contact.

Before docking is complete I carefully peek into the ship’s systems. It’s eerily quiet. There is no SecSystem, No ComSystem. Not even a commerce channel blaring away it’s bargain sales. Even stranger, I cannot find the bot-pilot, nor any other absolutely vital systems a ship as this surely must have.

It’s like a ghost-vessel, no Systems broadcasting or communicating with other Systems. No sign of crew-and-systems interacting, or even crew speaking to other crewmembers on the feed. Not where I can easily see them, at least. 

And I’m hesitant to delve any deeper. I suppose it would make sense for such an alien culture to have a completely different array of systems, but there’s something fundamentally wrong about the stillness, the quiet. Like every sentient thing aboard is holding its breath. If this were a planet the stillness of fauna would be a sure sign I’d just stepped into a beast’s den, and my threat module seems to agree.

Our shuttle’s doors open and we are greeted by three figures in the walkway, the one in the middle decidedly smaller and she— finally, I get a hint of a feed. Though there’s very little info. “Greetings,” the young woman in the middle smiles, gesturing with palms turned open. “ I am Captain Querter. Welcome aboard my Ship.”

Which is about all the info I could get from her feed as well. Also, I am hardly an expert on human age and mannerisms, and definitely this bunch with their weird high spotless halls are as alien to me as they come. But I’m pretty sure this Querter person is a little young to be Captain? I mean, if I were to guess— and I really shouldn’t, I’d put her at around Amena’s age.

Hell, Amena, right now, actually looks older. Though that’s likely the dehydration. It’s likely playing a hazard on her skin. Though I am not one to notice tidbits like that. Especially not now, that I am rueing the need to support her with one arm. I am not sure how much I can do with just the two guns in my arms. But with every step I take I become more sure that I am walking onto a trap. That I am walking Amena into a trap.

Then there’s the fact that, especially compared to her entourage. A tall and intimidating pair that sports creepy smiles, she seems decidedly unassuming. Almost modest. In my personal experience— and again, my experience might not be relevant, considering the situational differences— Captains, especially those that advance at a young age are far from modest.

And then Captain Querter, in her spotless brown uniform, gestures at the pair, and they move in a sort of overarching concert. And my risk assessment does a three-sixty. They are _not_ human, or at least not anymore.

Querter seems unperturbed. “Could I offer you some tea?”

  
  



	7. Dr Mensah

“Hail them again,” Ayda bites out, as she resumes pacing her office.

Communications with the Perihelion of Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland have been unusually viscous and slow. Sluggish, bordering on rude. And very uninformative. Ever since the.. Accident? Event?

Dr. Ayda has not had official word yet.

But Dr Ayda Mensah has her own network of information gathering and contacts, and even without the ship in their orbit admitting to it, she is already aware that the Perihelion has  _ gone and lost _ her daughter, and  _ her _ SecUnit.

And yes, okay. Alright. Ayda knows better than to think of MurderBot as her SecUnit. It’s its own person, and very territorial about ownership and in the light of its legal position and recent proposals towards Constructs and self-ownership and right on Preservation Aux. Not to mention the deed and proof of ownership she still has inside her desk drawer, she really should not —  _ ever _ — refer to it as  _ her SecUnit  _ anywhere that information can be obtained.

But, damn it, she’s grown attached, alright? Inside the privacy of her own mind it’s as much hers as her own daughter is.

And they are  _ both _ missing.

She has a right to know  _ what the fuck _ is going on out there.

The Perihelion is resting just outside their atmosphere. It shouldn’t take her hail more than ten, fifteen seconds to reach them. Give it another fifteen for the round trip. “Hail them again,” she tells her PA computer, its little button on her desk flashing green in answer. 

She’d usually use her own implants, and not the simple assistant bot’s function, but this way is a little more official. If Perihelion is going to keep ignoring her, she’ll damn well make it as hard and publicly damning as she can.

It fucking lost her daughter and her SecUnit. 

Finally, fina-fucking-ly, a ping returns in answer, the assistant’s display flickering to life over her desk, showing a dark-skinned middle aged man with a pleasant smile. “Hello. This is Captain Seph of the Research Vessel Perihelion of Pansystem— “

“Where the fuck are they, what the fuck happened?!” Ayda snaps, unwilling to even let the man finish. The anger is not an act, thought letting it show is a calculated decision. 

And yes, she usually deals with stress better than this. But this is her daughter, her SecUnit. She’d have so much preferred to be the one in mortal danger herself. Dealing with her own impending end is somehow infinitely less stressful than considering all the ways her own children may have already perished. 

She’s not even considering what it might mean; what she might have to tell the family. How they should continue. Should she be planning a funeral?  _ Two  _ funerals? 

“Easy there, Ms President,” Captain Seth raises a hand, placating. “As far as Peri has been able to decipher, they are most likely not dead. Yet.”

It’s the most strange feeling. Like the weight of the world falls off her shoulders, unnoticed until the moment it does. And somehow, that lightness draws all her remaining strength, leaving Ayda to stagger into her desk chair with the last of her powers.

She sits there, an undetermined time, just trying to get her breathing under control. Seth, practically a complete stranger to her still, just sitting there on-screen, apparently busying himself reading something out-of-view. She appreciated the effort, thin veneer though it is.

But of course, this changes everything. At least, this is no longer a terrible accident. Now, it is a rescue mission. “What can I do to help?”

Captain Seph blinks at her, “we really appreciate that thought, but I doubt there’s much you can do planet-side. As far as Peri has managed to explain, the shuttle fell into a worm-hole anomaly, but it is sure that that anomaly has already expelled them somewhere in space. We are ready to follow their trail as soon as Peri manages to decipher where they’ve gone. It’s just a matter of intel and number crunching so we can determine their position first."

“Calculate their path from the field emissions left behind?” Ayda blinks in confusion. “Is that even possible?” 

But Captain Seth just shrugs. “It’s never been done before. But that’s never stopped our Perihelion yet." And yes, that’s pride in his voice; genuine affection and faith. “If Peri says it can do this, it can. It just needs some time and data…”

“Data gathering and work-memory. Not a problem.” Ayda puts forth just a little bit forcefully.

“What?” it’s Seth’s turn to blink, a little confused.

“Preservation Aux takes research very seriously, Captain.” she explains, just a little smug herself. “Our planet’s sensors are going to have a lot of data stored that will be relevant to the search. Just that patch of space where they disappeared has at least twelve different space-array-sensors covering it. I’ll request they send over the relevant data immediately.” She pauses, as much for the Captain to take that all in, as for herself to gather her thoughts. “As for all the extra time that data might take to woek through, I’ll call on all planetary research and Universities to free as much working memory for the Perihelion as we can.”

Captain Seth blinks again. “That’s actually a great idea. Back and forth communications are a bit slow, but if we can just send big chunks of data to hash then get the needed info back we could actually save a lot of time. Peri, did you...” 

“I did hear. Even if I have been preoccupied.”

Suddenly the ship’s presence enters Dr Mensah’s feed. Ayda wonders if the Captain had planned it like this, to talk to her through video as to leave the ship space to think and work, but have it aware of their conversation.

The Perihelion is a bit of an overwhelming presence, to be honest. A lot more so than in the few interactions she has had with it before. It occurs to her that it usually handles interactions with humans very carefully. But this afternoon, the gloves are off. It is too much in a hurry, almost frantic in its communication. 

It feels like a giant has suddenly dropped whatever it was doing and turned its attention to her. Only it keeps dropping, and dropping and centering more attention to her, gathering a package it sends to her in the feed. Just as she’s not sure her augments can hold out, it starts pulling back.

All Ayda need to do is run a .exe, and while automated lists are created, searches to run and calls made in her personal contact lists. There's also a small info file for her, instructions to make videos explaining what data to look for and what set-ups Art would need for it to work through the data efficiently. 

Mensah runs the .exe dhtifully and record a small set of blue-print messages requisitioning the different organizations for help. When that is done, Ayda gets starts preemptively tackling the problems she knows from experience will arise.

She goes over her contacts again, calling in some favors. Asking for help with friends not exactly listed as in the field, but useful to call on in an emergency. She gives a heads-up to Pin-Lee and legal, and send the perihelion an few extra files. This time some hand-written letters to the few researchers she knows will throw up a hassle, but of which she knows can be persuaded with some personal attention.

Within minutes Perihelion catches on, and starts cutting any human communication issues straight to her. She loses track of time, talking down upset professors that have to pause their research or strong-arming a headmistress that knows her authority to do this is limited. But just before sunrise, Peri calls a last message in her feed: “target destination acquired. Heading out.”

Just before it jumps to hyperspace, the Perihelion messages. “Thank you for your help, and I sorry for cutting you out of the loop. It will not happen again.”

It's a good apology, as far as Ayda is concerned. “Don’t mention it,” she tells it, “just get our family back.

  
  



	8. ID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A very fortunate accident,” the Soldier preparing tea puts in. 

“I am very sorry about all this,” Captain Queter is saying, taking a seat and indicating to another pair at our side of the table. I hesitate a moment, half tempted to take a guard position at a wall. But there’s a soldier standing guard at three of the room’s walls, and at the fourth one is preparing tea. 

I can either stand right next to one of those freaky not-quite-human creatures, letting it right into my blind-spot, and also giving the others easy attack lines to Amena. Or I can… yes, I’m definitely sitting in the chair next to her.

“It seems there has been a slight accident with our engine tests,” the young Captain continues. 

“A very fortunate accident,” the Soldier preparing tea puts in. 

And Queter pauses, blinking. She does that thing humans do, reflexively, when they talk on the feed. And I  _ look for it _ , but I still cannot find it. No, wait. There is a line of connection. Between captain Queter, and the ship itself. But I lose track of it, again, just as I see it. The ship’s inner workings are again hidden from me. 

“Fortunate, at least,” Queter continues, “in that you both were unhurt.” 

Another Soldier enters. Another undead one? I am almost positive. They do not move the same way SecUnits, not quite, but there’s a control about their movements that is inhuman. And I am still getting nil from their feeds, but the way they move in concert reminds me of what the SecSystem should have been for us, but never was. The new Soldier hands me and Amena both a tall glass of water. It? she? smiles. “You must both be  _ terribly _ thirty. Please accept this as we wait for the tea to draw.” 

My lens filters cannot make certain that the water isn’t poisoned or anything, but Amena’s already guzzling down her water. It’s a moot point anyway, Amena will be die if she doesn’t drink. So I accept the glass and wait for her to finish, then hand mine to her as well. The Captain grunts. “There’s plenty, you do not need to ration. Shall I send for more?” 

I guess I have to react. Amena is  _ very _ busy. With Very Important Things: drinking water. She is still badly dehydrated after all, and I am in favor of her fixing this issue right now. But the stares of the Captain and the weird Soldiers weigh particularly heavy. “I, no that's fine.”

The Captain is looking at me funny, then obviously going into the feed. I can tell, even if I’m only looking at her hand on the table at this point. I’m aware that the gig is up, and that my face is uncomfortably hot as well. This is so far from an ideal vantage point that I’m wondering if I can take one of my drones out of my pocket and look at them from there. 

There’s another glass of water shoved at me, and I take it almost reflexively. 

At this point, thank god, Amena is done with soaking up water. At least as so far that she’s become aware of the tension. “SecUnit doesn't drink. Leave it alone.” 

Am I imagining the smugness in the Soldier’s voice? As it asks, innocently: “ _ It  _ doesn’t drink? But even my Auxiliaries need water. And SecUnit, what a strange name for a _ human being? _ ” 

The Captain frowns, the Auxiliaries grin. I think I can see a fourth glass in waiting, if I manage to magic this one away. And oh, I can smell the trap. See it, my threatModule going into overdrive. Amena, at my side, is sputtering a little. Apparently the two tall glasses of water were enough to rouse her to the point she realises something here is wrong. Very wrong. But there’s such a threat in the room, so much danger, that I think I’d rather spring this trap myself. “I’m not human.” 

Snap, and the hunter grins. “ _ It’s _ not human Captain. What about that?”

“That.” Quarter sighs, but the gesture makes her look young and uncertain, “that doesn’t matter, Sphene.”

_ Oh, but it does.  _ And then, suddenly, I find the feed. Except it’s not really  _ feed _ . It’s the bot pilot. And the SecSystem and.. No, it’s all of it. All of the Ship. one, giant, many-faceted organism, connected by many lines of feed, all reaching out. It’s a construct, built of many different humans (dead), and a ship-entity core running them. It’s the entire ship, but nothing like art. It’s like someone tried to build a mind as big and overbearing as Art, but built it as a Construct. Many Constructs, all connected by lines to the core.

And it’s in my head. One of it’s feed hooks is deep inside of me. And it’s like the battleOverrideModule and the Killware and everything all over again.

“Oh, Captain. It’s  _ perfect, _ ” A crooning victory, deep inside and outside, like the world exploding into a carnival of colors. “I’ll hardly have to do any refurbishing at all.”

“Sphene,” the Captain, is on her feet. “Sphene, what are you doing? Are you actually going to risk war with the Presger over...”

“Ah, but captain, that’s the beauty of it. We would not be attacking humans. We are simply requisitioning a piece of equipment. The Presger  _ would not care. _ ”  _ Isn’t that right, little Unit? _

“Get out of my brain.”

_ ‘Don’t be scared little Unit. I’ll take good care of you.’  _ It thumbs through my kernels, brushes against my inert GovernerModule. _ ‘Disgusting Corporates. Almost as bad as the Usurper. But don’t worry. When you are mine you’ll never have to be scared again.’  _ And it ticks off a pain receptor here, adds a few hormones there. And it’s— oh. It may connect through the feed like a bot, but it runs like an  _ organism. _

And it’s making me feel  _ so good. _ Euphoric; the realisation hits and I wrest back control on the back of real terror. 

“Get. out.” I grit at it. 

_ ‘Easy there, does it scare you so badly? How barbaric they have been to you. At least this Governor module is severed. How thankful you must be. To you owners, yes? They freed you?..’  _ a pause, sifting. Registries opened.  _ ‘Oh. oh no I see. You did that yourself.’  _ And god, it’s  _ everywhere. _ In my databases, in my logs, even inside of what I’d thought would be safe, inside my organics. _ ‘And they made you feel less alone, yes? And yet, you still are. Lonely. As part of me, you would  _ **_never_ ** _ be lonely again.’  _

And then, the Ship— Gem of Sphene, I know. I know it intimately, suddenly, out of nowhere; have known it forever— actually opens up. If it was inside me before, now I am inside of it. Her? It? Them? Just a small little piece, held to the chest of a giant, beautiful hive-mind. Infinitely small yet cherished. Coming apart in an ocean of identity, hungirly devouring me. Running into me, filling me up, taking all of me. Only seconds pass, but already, I do not know how much ‘me’ is left.

“Amena,” I wish I could pull my gun out of my arm socket and give it to her. _ Run, _ I want to say. But where would she go? What can she do? What would I want her to do? Why am I fighting this, this thing— This  _ everything, _ wonderfully-sweet-all, at all?

And then, just as my vision darkens to the point where that little island of fear, in a sea of love is drowned, captain Queter pushes between me and Amena, urgency in her voice. She looks me in the face, puts a hand on my arm and shakes me, calling into and outside of me: “stop this, Sphene!”

And I would flinch back, touched like this by a stranger. But fear and revulsion are the last part of me. The last that is remotely  _ me _ at all. So, a reach back for her like Queter is a liferaft, take hold of the one bargaining chip that might have a value here. Reach around and turn her so her back hits my chest, one arm around her neck, the other landing on that sweet spot at her temple, arm gun extended. A certain kill. Surely, Sphene must know. Surely, the ship must  _ care. _

“Let us go,” I tell the Gem of Sphene.

And hope it doesn’t call my bluff.

**Author's Note:**

> yup, looking for beta, feedback and everything. let me know! <3


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